


The bad and the good

by WinnowingBananas



Category: Red Rising Series - Pierce Brown
Genre: Academy Era, Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 22:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20415484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinnowingBananas/pseuds/WinnowingBananas
Summary: Roque has fallen in Tactus' trap and opened his arms for him, his legs, even, but it can't be the result of mere desire - not only that, but is it right to call the burning inside him...love?





	The bad and the good

**Author's Note:**

> A chapter I did on one of my most crappy days in existence - sick and tired. It might be incoherent at time, but hey, it has the gays!

Tactus is so warm…

The touch of his skin is a caress Roque yearned for so long… his bare flesh, touching Roque’s. The poet’s lean and brittle fingers running along his scars, caressing where they once gripped with such a fierce desire. And feeling hope. He would even say love, if he could be so easy to fool – but he is not.

He is not. He is not, but how he can say this when he is so deep sunken in Tactus’ embrace? Pure, raw, passion… desire. Roque deepens his fingers in his friend’s hair, caressing the scalp with his fingertips. As he would touch something fragile when, just minutes ago – or hours, he doesn’t know – Roque was the one that felt to be so hard to grab by, without breaking. Collapsing. The burning he felt… first in his innards and then in his bones, announced demise, but what he received was pleasure. What he gave back were the whimpers of a man so desperate, wishing moments of heat as such would never end – he called Tactus by his name in such an intimate manner. And it heated his friend so much, passion was reverberating through his skin. Tension so dense it clogged Roque’s mind, so acute it didn’t even leave now – he left Tactus touches him as he never left anyone to do. And instead of feeling ashamed, embarrassed, he asked for more. And more was what he received.

Is it wrong?

No, it is wrong worded – was it wrong? A past mistake, that is it. Nothing to interfere with the future was him to be happy…tamed, curling his fingers with…

With Tactus’. It is the image he sees, when his soul says love. He doesn’t remember how Quinn looks. A leg resting on Tactus’ hip, mouth opening to grab his neck’s skin, in soft touches alike silk – this is him now. So humilating. The traitor that rose inside of him, the traitor Tactus was able to create, chisel out of him… how? How could his friend do this to him?

How could he poison his mind with him? Image of his smile and mouth close to him, panting in his eardrums, the sensation of his fingers gripping on his hair being so real, even when his hands are curled around his waist. His waist… the one he held, until Roque’s skin became red.

Tactus would never understand what nights as such mean to him. He is a man of pleasure, wild sensation are his only desire – he only wants to feel it, sip from every drop of it. He slept with so many, probably left his hands to cup around them just as they do now with him – but Roque is not like this.

Roque gave himself away. No hands, not even Quinn’s or Lea’s ever crossed the barrier – he refused, seeking for the appropriate time. The night with stars, or day with rain, the appropriate place where the heat to be born, the appropriate time so their hands can slip on each other’s bodies – he gave his dream away. The patience he had, by sleeping with Tactus.

But the night does have stars. And there was rain in the day when Tactus slipped his hand on his tight, in what he calls a playful manner. Scarred him with desire – Roque always thought his friend was a really handsome man, his eyes sought for him many times, so different than they did for Darrow or anyone else, but he thought it was natural.

Such a fool, falling in the deeps of trivial desire. In the same day with rain, his mouth almost touched Tactus’ - they were so close. Tactus was playing, as always, but that time… everything was different. And the game he played became so serious, it aroused Roque to death, but not in way that would make him want to burst in his room and ask for it. So different from what Tactus does with every carnal wish of his, so different from the approach he has on lust – one so full of emotion, Roque found no metaphor to compare it with.

He never met it before, such ascension of soul. And, the worst part of all, Tactus was not drunk.

He didn’t snore anything, to launch him to his maniacal being – he was sober. Fully aware of every of his action, examining with his devil eye every of Roque’s reaction - he saw Roque quivering softly under his touch, he felt the heat of his breath when their lips touched for only few moments, not much than seconds.

And he will remember everything, as a sign of Roque’s infidelity, the epitome of human falling torn in front of needs, that followed it from it’s days as a primate – the proof that the human could never change. The proof that, no matter how much it tries, the human still human remains.

Is it about a gorydamned desire? Is it all Tactus’ touch means to him? The thing that can summarise the fire rising inside him when he opens his mouth to lay another kiss on his sun-touched skin?

Desire, desire…

Such a Tactus thing – desire.

His hands unwrapped from Tactus’ body and he dragged himself from his embrace, slipping from the arms holding him so tightly. A mutter came from the man once asleep next to him, but it was too late to stop – Roque stumbled out of the bed, as a blind man touching the floor for his clothes. He can’t see anything, but it’s not the only sense that has been lost on it’s way – he doesn’t feel anything, not even his skin being brushed by the material, as it burns too much.. Mind clogged and thoughts unclear, as he feels amok…

Desire, desire…

,,Roque.’’ Tactus called, his voice husky. ,,Roque…’’

Tactus’ fingertips meet his back, that aches at the touch – Roque whimpers. Such a familiar sound. At the back of his mind, he revisits memories from very recent. The poet drags himself away - away from a man he can not see through the dense cloth of darkness. 

,,Why aren’t you sleeping?’’ He can hear Tactus asks.

Roque creep his feet along the floor. He can seize a smile in Tactus’ voice.

,,Up for another round, my good man?’’ He laughed.

But it isn’t funny.

Not at all – it might be for him, but, by Jove! It will never be for Roque. Not for him – he can’t fall in this trap.

His back slams to the door and he twirls with his face at it. Tactus voice is distant. He mutters something Roque can’t hear – his eardrums are clogged. The door opens, sound of it being the loudest thing he ever heard. Tactus remains behind, sheets creaking as he lifts himself up.

,,Roque!’’

But he can’t stay there – he is not like this.

Not like Tactus.


End file.
